


Sky

by Megashark



Series: Sky [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Anxiety, Emotional Manipulation, Food Poisoning, Hunger Games References, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Insomnia, Obsession, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megashark/pseuds/Megashark
Summary: Cerulean Sky is the Victor of the 157th Hunger Games. It has been 15 years since her win, and there have been no further victories for her District, District Six. She is the only Victor still alive from her District, and she is not well liked. This story follows her and explains the strange circumstances surrounding how she became the only District Six Victor and of the time leading up to the final official Capitol run Hunger Games.This story takes place in a AU from the series, where many if not all of the main characters do not exist. I know where I'm going with this, but it isn't finished and the details are sort of vague, and so I will include notes at the beginning of every chapter with tags should anything new come up in writing this. So additional tags will be added later as I continue to write.
Series: Sky [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030029
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. A Painted Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Cerulean Sky comes home after the 172nd Hunger Games have ended.

**Archives 172nd Hunger Games, Post Games Interview with previous Victor Cerulean Sky**

_"Abigail showed real promise, making it to the top three tributes this year before her allies turned on her. How did it feel to come so close to winning?"_

_Cerulean smiled, the dreamy smile she was known for, staring off in the distance for a moment before giving her reply. Her clothing, her makeup and hair matched her demeanor, her hair a subdued rainbow, curls and colors everywhere, and the soft pastels of her jacket and dress matched as well. When she turned back to the interviewer, a round man named September Vox, her dark brown eyes had sharpened as they stared into the interviewers, meeting his gaze with respectful consideration._

_"Well it would have been nice of course, and she did have promise didn't she? I thought for a moment I'd have some company in the Victors Village back home. Maybe next year though!" Cheerful, with a touch of regret. A perfect mimic of Capitol disregard for human life. Children died, an inconvenience. The shell of beauty and charm protecting what was left within._

**District Six: Victor Village**

Cerulean stared at the hallway of her mansion. The blank wall, a boring blue cream that was just a bit hard to look at. She ran one hand over the smooth surface, tracing where forest lines and sunsets had once greeted her as she left to mentor the two tributes from District Six just three weeks ago.

"As soon as you left. And I mean, as soon. Maybe a couple of hours before, they pulled up."

Cerulean whirled in place, rainbow skirts swirling as she moved to face her sister. Autumn Sky did not mirror her older sister's smile. And her younger siblings arms were folded across her chest. Autumn always took this so much harder than Cerulean did.

Crossing the space between them, her boots hitting the hardwood floor with echoing thumps. Cerulean held her arms out. "I missed you so much!"

Autumn reluctantly turned from the wall just in time to be engulfed in her sisters hug.

"I don't understand the point is all," Autumn whispered, holding tight to her anger, no matter how her sibling squeezed her.

"Does it matter?" Cerulean pulled back, her smile still in place as she drank in the welcoming sight of her only living relative. "Now we have the chance to paint it all over again! Every year is different, and so will our home be! They practically did us a favor!"

It was a familiar argument, though it was getting harder to get her sister to agree to her point of view with every passing year that the walls were painted over. In some ways, it was better this way. They were watching, and they needed to know a point had been made. But it was important to move past that acknowledgement quickly, and on to gratitude. On to that near worship that the Capitol felt entitled to.

Cerulean had expected Autumn to grow more content with age, in a mansion, with everything she could dream of at her fingertips. As a teenager, her sister had grumbled and complained about not having what was available in the Capitol. Now she had it, and suddenly she grew sentimental. Suddenly she cared that the Capitol painted over her sisters murals every year. After almost fifteen years of this, Cerulean might have grown weary of having the same argument, might have felt fed up with explaining to her sibling that reality of things, the necessity of things, saying without saying, protecting with silence and manipulating with smiles and false confidence. Of pretending, even at home. But Autumn was all she had, and no matter how many times they circled around this argument, the fear of what would happen if the wrong thing was said stayed as strong. She could not lose Autumn. She could not. 

The cheery response did not seem to temper Autumns reaction at all, if anything her sister seemed more upset, pulling back and away and refusing to meet Cerulean's gaze.

"They are my murals Autumn," Cerulean reminded her sister, the sparkle fading from her smile for a moment. She never yelled, but softly chiding, that was in her wheelhouse. She reached forward and tapped under her sisters chin. So like her own, they had their mothers round features, and their fathers big brown eyes and brown skin. They had looked very similar for a long while, until Cerulean had been drafted into the Hunger Games. Makeup and hair dye could do a lot to change how someone looked, though the Victor had once had the same thin black hair that her sibling wore cut short to frame her face. "And look to my example for this. I'm fine! So you be fine about it to!"

She wrapped one arm around her sisters shoulders and started to steer her towards the end of the hall, towards the dining room. Autumn looked torn, and Cerulean knew she was making progress. "Now, darling, I obtained the sweetest recipe from the most amazing bakery in the Capitol and I want to try and replicate it here!"

Autumn groaned. "Not again!"

Cerulean laughed as they passed under the archway from hall to dining room. A large room, with a stained glass ceiling that let in light. When the walls were painted just right, it glowed with joyful beams of rainbow color. Even with the walls their current boring hue, the colorful rays of light were beautiful.

"I can't keep getting worse. This is the recipe I'll get right, I just know it!"

The room was easy to navigate, since there was only the two of them, the table was small. There had been a bigger one, but when their parents died, Cerulean had downsized the dining room table after one awful week of awkward dinners trying not to look at the places her parents used to sit. Other than the table, the rest of the room was taken up by various plants and flowers that Cerulean had brought back from the Capitol, sprinkled with some plantlife Autumn had managed to grow from the seeds of plants and flowers native to their district.

"You always say that Cerulean, ALWAYS and whatever you make ends up looking and tasting like MUD," Autumn grumbled, but she was smiling now, watching her sister fondly.

Feeling more comfortable now, and very relieved, Cerulean let her mind wander. "I wonder if you could paint with mud very well? It might be interesting for a large ground mural..."

"How and why do you turn everything into art! We were talking about food. And hopefully eating out instead of whatever awful thing you want to recreate!" Autumn reminded her sister with a laugh.

"People make food into art and its something that I have considered doing myself if I could just get better at making the food to begin with," Cerulean continued, picking what she wanted from her sister's response and staring ahead thoughtfully.

Autumn shook her head once more. "That is the last thing we need! You mixing actual food with paint or something and poisoning us both!"

They passed through the large room into the kitchen. Another room filled with flowers and light, a huge window let in light from outside just above the double sink on the left, and plants hung around the sink and along the edges of the cabinets, rosemary and mint, sage and lavender. And more, many more. Autumns passion, covering as much as the house could handle, providing home grown ingredients for the meals she made, and the meals Cerulean ruined.

"There is paint that isn't poisonous to eat..."Cerulean trailed off and laughed as her sister moved away to stand across from her, giving her a very serious stare.

"No turning food into art in this house Cerulean. I mean it. And lets hold off ruining perfectly good ingredients to try and create whatever it was in the Capitol I just need to try. Look, I'll even make your favorite, vegetarian lasagna and garlic bread. Or maybe some sweet and sour cauliflower?" Autumns voice went from demanding to cajoling, a wistful smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I thought you wanted to eat out!" Cerulean responded with surprise.

Autumn shrugged and gestured towards the kitchen. Though smaller than the dining room, it was still large, and Autumn kept it furnished, with fruit and breads in baskets and beautifully carved containers, and a fridge always filled with more than they could use to eat. Autumn spent most of her time cooking and baking, creating delightful recipes and selling them those outside the district during the weekend markets for far less than she paid to make them, and donating what she didn't sell to the District orphanage and hospitals. It kept her very busy, something she had needed after her sister had won the Hunger Games and their lives had both changed forever.

"We have more than enough here, and I miss having a meal to share with someone else. Lets just make something together and eat in tonight. You can tell me about whatever new exciting entertainment was in the Capitol this year, and I'll let you know all the gossip from in town I heard at the food market the last couple of weeks."

Here they had moved passed the dangerous bit of things, and Cerulean felt overwhelmed for a moment, by the love she felt for her sister. At the Capitol, Cerulean fit right in, a butterfly like all the rest, useless and busy in her uselessness. An ornamental mirror, reflecting what was expected. Her manor was lavish and once she had it painted with bright colors again, she could fit right in with her extravagant clothing and style, but somehow it always felt like her sisters home, where she was safe for a time. She knew it was an illusion, that she was the one protecting her sibling, but seeing her younger sister in her casual jeans and non descript t shirt and jacket, treating her like she was just a sister, like her presence mattered and arguing with her about something she actually cared about, but in a safe way, a way that wouldn't end in violence or death...There was no veiled threats, no claws wrapped in velvet. Just a good person, doing her best to help the people around her, even her sister, the butterfly of the Capitol, the shame of the District.

"Well that sounds lovely to me," Cerulean responded. They spent the next hour making food, with Cerulean more in the way than helpful, chatted about their time apart and bridging that space with stories, though they both left out what would hurt the other. Cerulean did not tell Autumn about the threats she faced, the lies she told, the heartbreak of watching a child she had met and spent time with die, and Autumn did not share the disgust that she faced in the District when others mentioned her sister, the Capitols pet, who hadn't helped a tribute to victory in all the time she had been mentoring. The only living Victor of District Six and useless, who didn't even seem to care that it was their children being slaughtered in those games she gushed about on television.

They eventually went to sleep. Cerulean woke at midnight, as she usually did, to wander the halls anxiously, hovering in the artificial lamplight and avoiding shadows that stretched between. Several hours of restless wandering led to her hunting her paints, and beginning to repaint the hallway by the front door, starting with primer, wearing a mask with flowers carved and painted into the sides of it to protect her from the fumes.

Just before the light came back, around five thirty in the morning, a note slid under the door.

Cerulean froze, paintbrush in the air, her heart hammering in her chest. Feeling safer from view with her face mask on, she carefully lowered her paintbrush, and set it to the side, before making her way over to the letter. It was small, and did not have a name on it. Dread filled her as she carefully opened the the white envelope, and pulled out the card within. It was just a single square of cardstock, with familiar lettering, spidery and elegant with many loops and thin writing.

**I have need of you. Come home at your earliest convenience.**

**[Cerulean Sky](https://imgur.com/ovpXFwj) **

**[Autumn Sky](https://imgur.com/ZUQv92n) **


	2. District Six

Slowly, Cerulean removed her mask, letting it tumble to the floor as she raised her head to stare about her. The corners of the room, where the shadows gathered. Was that where they were watching? She smiled, a soft, understanding smile. "Of course. I'll be there as soon as possible. I'll get my things now."

Clutching the card in one hand, she fled to her room. Her expression blank, focused. Quickly, quickly. What could have happened? What would happen if she reacted wrong to a summons?

She had been Victor for 15 years and never had she been summoned to the Capitol outside of her regular trips to visit. Wait, that wasn't true. She had that one time. Just the once. After her parents had passed away. She had ignored it then, too confused to think straight, too confused to accept help. Too stupid to see the offer for the demand and so the opportunity had slipped through her fingers as her parents had died without the aid available for them.

She had just wanted to hide in her pain, quietly. Now she knew better. Any time a question was asked, there would be an answer. The right answer. Her anxiety screamed as she scrambled to figure out what the right thing to do was. After a few minutes of shoving her clothes back in her flower and butterfly covered pink luggage, she realized something was wrong. There was a sound. A gasping sound. It was coming from...

her.

Cerulean's hands stopped moving, and she took a deep breath. In. And out. Counting slowly to five, then again, and again. Stopping the movement in her mind, the screaming of questions. The fear and dread still lingered, but she had control. Some control. She began packing again, slower now. Not moving lethargically by any means but no longer frantic.

She hoped that that rush of panic and flurry of motion had been seen and appreciated, but now she needed to focus on one thing at a time and be ready to be the Victor they wanted and needed. And that started the moment she read that note.

And that meant she had to be at her best. She couldn't fly out of her house without taking proper care of her appearance.

So despite her fear, after packing, Cerulean chose a comfortable sundress of soft fluffy material that looked like it was made of clouds of pink and purple. She carefully applied her makeup, and pulled her hair back into a long ponytail, adding large butterfly clips and then carefully chose a pair of white and pink boots that wouldn't cause pain when she was walking. Then she made a phone call, summoning a car to her residence. It was only as she made her way downstairs that she realized she had to do one more thing before she left.

Cerulean found paper in one of the kitchen drawers, and wrote with painstaking neatness.

**Struck by inspiration! Be out of town for a few days, need to paint what I need to paint! I'll let you know when I am done, don't worry about me, take care little sister.**

**Love, Cerulean**

The note left on the counter, she walked outside to wait.

The sun was up by the time she made her way out, an hour or more had gone by since she read the note, and her body felt heavy with exhaustion, though concern for what might have prompted the note she had received kept her alert. Reminding herself that worry was only hurting her, she decided to focus on the sky above. It was cloudy, but with the sun rising, the sky still held hints of color that matched her hair, and her outfit as well. There was something calming in that. The clouds did not get notes or change course for fears or anxieties. Nothing touched their meandering, they had no fears. It would be wonderful to be a cloud, she thought, trying to imagine the sensation of floating, surrounded by the cold.

The sound of the car approaching drew her back to the present.

It probably hadn't taken long, though Cerulean was a terrible judge at time. It was likely that this driver was the one who had delivered the letter. A silver machine, sleek and shiny, unlike any of the older vehicles from the district this was straight from the Capitol. The first time Cerulean had seen it, she had gasped and asked if it could fly.

"Ms Sky, your bag?"

Cerulean jumped in place, then gave a tired grin to her driver. Venly Kirnam, a Capitolite stationed in District Six, always on his best behavior, never a hair out of place. Even at this early hour, he looked wide awake and prepared for the day, short light hair carefully styled, just a hint of purple eyeliner under violet eyes. He was probably older than he looked, as he had looked the same ever since Cerulean had met him twelve years ago.

Handing the bag to him, she walked forward, hands clasped behind her back. "Sorry to disturb you so early Mr Kirnam. Urgent summons to the Capitol, all very exciting. Couldn't wait a moment, got ready as fast as I could," she explained as he placed her bag in the trunk, then moved to open a door to the back seat. The door slid open, and with a quick thank you, Cerulean hopped into the back of the car. While the vehicle didn't look very large from the outside, the seats within were quite roomy, with space to stretch her legs and a mini fridge with drinks and snacks within. Cerulean buckled herself in as the door was closed behind her, then looked out of the window at her two story manor.

She had just arrived and had barely any time to rest and already she was whirled back. She stared forlorn at the beautiful flowers growing all around the outside of the house, some of it beginning to climb up the side walls. She gasped in surprise, as her gaze went up and she saw her sister staring down from a window on the second floor. Of course, Autumn couldn't see Cerulean, as the windows were tinted. But Cerulean could see her sister quiet well. In her long sleeved silk pajamas, short hair a bit rumpled around her face, Autumn's brows furrowed as she stared down at the car. Concern. And anger. Cerulean sighted as the car pulled forward and away. Was Autumn mad at her? At the Capitol?

She hoped it was at her. It was so much safer if she would just direct her anger at a thoughtless ditzy sister. The car swung a quick u turn out of the Victor village and started through the quiet streets of District Six. Turning away from the window for a moment, she opened the fridge and pulled out a fruit cup and a bottled water, making herself comfortable. It would be twenty minutes to get to the train station, and she was starving. As comfortable as the car was, it was too quiet and dark for Cerulean to sleep, so she ate breakfast while watching the District go by.

District Six. Fruit trees and flowers. Someone new to the District would see beauty, a quiet comfortable natural beauty missing from the Capitol. Flowers covered the tops of many rooftops, crawled up the sides of buildings. The fruit here was good enough to rival the Capital, and several rebellions before they had earned the right to keep some of it for themselves.

A dangerous thought, rebellions. Cerulean wondered if the fruit in the cup she snaked on was directly from her District, or if it had gone to the Capitol and returned again to the District of its origin. Like me, Cerulean thought.

The District was beautiful, but the people here were unhappy. Unhappy their older Victors were dead, some in rebellions, some in 'accidents'. Some simply of old age, or so it would seem. Three Victors were left when Cerulean had won her games. Trixy Maple had died of an pneumonia. She refused all Capitol help, or so the news programs would have it. Autumn had told Cerulean in hushed whispers that the Capitol had refused to help her at all, trapped her in the District when she had voiced her displeasure at the hunger games months prior. Trixy had won four years before Cerulean, and had a personality as violent as Cerulean's was demure. She'd been Cerulean's mentor and largely responsible for her ability to kill when faced with the terrible necessity.

Cerulean wondered about Trixy getting sick. Not so close to her outburst that it was directly connected, but close enough for the memory to still be there. It was a whispered wonder, the voice that told her to avoid the shadows, that told her, hurry hurry hurry to the Capitol even now. It filled her with dread to think of it.

Gavin Lemon had died of old age, everyone said so. He had been so very old, over a hundred. Surely there couldn't have been anything suspect about him passing away, quietly in his home, the day before a Reaping.

Honey Rose, a favorite of the Capitol and the Districts just fell over dead one day in the Capitol. No one knew why. Some said stress had killed her. It was the year after Trixy passed away, and it was just Honey and Cerulean helping their Victors. Cerulean was the last one Honey had ever spoken to. Cerulean had been sitting at a table, eating lunch with several Capitolites, offering to do portraits of their families, trying to earn sponsorships for her tribute that year. They were a nice elderly couple, and didn't normally participate in the Games wagering, but they had a lot of money, and Cerulean had managed to become friends with them at an art gallery several years prior. Honey had walked over, looking so out of place in the Capitol in her dark leathers and long tank top, hair short and messy, and face clean of any makeup. Smiling viciously, she had leaned over Ceruleans shoulder and whispered in her ear.

"We are ten minutes out Ms Sky."

The voice floated through the air, the gentle rumble of her driver through the speakers hidden all around her. Cerulean perked up on her seat, emerging from her thoughts. Fruit cup empty, she carefully placed it in the tiny recycle bin tucked into the side of the car, and continued watching out the window. This route avoided the corners of the district where poverty was still prevalent, instead she got to see the orchards. The trees were in bloom this time of year, and Cerulean drank in the beautiful flowers, leaning against the side of the car, and smiling gently.

When she was younger, she went with her mother and sister after school to the Orchards to help keep the grounds clean. At the right time of year, they would return home with fruit, or flowers. They weren't a wealthy family by any means, but they found jobs, like helping at the Orchards when they could, dog walking, babysitting, any little thing that would bring in extra money to allow them to do something fun together at least once a year. The last year before the games they had saved up money to buy their own fruit trees, one for each of the girls. Cerulean had an orange tree, Autumn had chosen a lemon tree. They had been so excited to watch them grow.

"Here, Ms Sky."

The car pulled to a stop. They had left the orchards behind at some point, as Cerulean's thoughts dove into childhood memories, to the open fields of flowers leading up to the station. Cerulean waited patiently in the car for the door to be opened, then sprang out, hopping in place as the door was closed, then her bag was taken from the trunk and handed back to her.

"Have a safe trip Ms Sky."

Never any emotion from this man. Cerulean wished she could ask him what this was all for, if he knew, if the person who gave him the card seemed upset, urgent, or worried. Instead she just smiled and asked him the same question she always did.

"Would you mind if I gave you a hug goodbye?"

And he answered, as he always did.

"I would indeed mind very much."

His voice still never changed. Did he hate it here in the Districts? Did he miss the Capitol as much as she missed her home when she was there? Did he hate her, for going where he could not?

"Very well then. I hope you have a good day sir, thank you for your kind assistance."

They turned almost at the same moment, heading in opposite directions.


	3. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cerulean takes the train, and arrives in the Capitol

Cerulean greeted everyone she encountered on the way through the train station. There weren't many people, but their reactions were varied. The guardsman stationed right inside nodded to her solemnly. A pair of teenagers stared at her with a mixture of horror, disgust and awe. An attendant turned and pretended they hadn't seen her.

The only reply she received was from the young woman waiting near the train itself. She was shorter than Cerulean, with gold and emerald hair that glittered, held up above her head with various pins shaped like bugs. Her eyelashes were bright green and extended so far out they brushed her cheeks when she blinked and she wore matching lipstick and eyeshadow. She was on the phone, but she muttered something into her device and shut it upon sighting Cerulean.

"Hello-"

"Right, right, in you go, on a schedule, held up the mail to other districts to give you a chance to get here early. You're welcome by the way, I hear you just have to get back to the Capitol and really, hah, who can blame you, no offense you know but this District, kind of boring, yea? Oh right this way, your rooms, going to be a bit of a long trip, longer than usual since we are stopping along the way. Alright hon, see you later for lunch, or dinner, whatever ends up happening, sorry, I have to take this."

And then the woman was gone, back on her phone, leaving Cerulean in front of a doorway. Grateful for the quiet, Cerulean slipped into her room, turning on all the lights, and quickly prepared for sleep once again. It would be two days before she got back to the Capitol if they were taking the slow route, which meant she could have a nice long sleep. Nestling into the plush bed next to the window, she drifted away to a dreamless sleep.

The days that followed blended into one another. Cerulean discovered her escorts name was Nebula Song, and that Nebula was on her phone all of the time. At the table, while watching tv in the lounge car, when at the bar, drinking a brightly colored drink...Cerulean was pretty sure that the other woman was usually talking to different people, as she would sometimes interrupt the person she was on the phone with to answer another call. Other than her name, Cerulean learned nothing else of the woman from conversation, but she was an artist, and observation was in the job description, so she also knew that Nebula avoided sunlight, preferring to sit in the shadows of the room, always ate one banana nut muffin at the table for breakfast, a grapefruit for lunch, and ordered food to her room for dinner. She was careless on her phone, running into other things and people often, and blaming whatever or whomever she had run into for the encounter.

Cerulean was pretty sure that Nebula was a last resort call, the first person that could be found to ensure the Victor would arrive back at the Capitol as quickly as possible. Usually the escorts that she had with her (And they were always different) were...well...better at their job. She was pretty sure if she slipped off the train at one of the stops, Nebula wouldn't notice for several hours, maybe a day. Not that Cerulean would do such a thing, though she smirked to herself, watching the cities blur by, imagining the eventual panic such a maneuver would cause the other woman.

There were no other people in there car, and Cerulean didn't hear from anyone on her way to the Capitol either. At least not directly. The Capitol was always there of course, in every room a television, exclaiming the exploits that those who ruled were up to. Recaps of the Games continued, though at this point the District Two Victor, Melody Thornbrook, would be on her way back to her District to celebrate with her own family. That was one of the good things about a Career winning. Their family was almost always very eager to celebrate the way the Capitol wished and expected, and eager to move into the Victor mansion. Sometimes there was trouble adjusting to that sort of thing in other Districts. A family discovering their child was different now, unmanageable, terrifying and dangerous, splintered. And to be sure, Career families fell apart the same as any others, but there was a sense that at least, these people had wanted their child to go to the Games, and were proud of them for all that they had...accomplished.

At least, that was what Cerulean told herself, desperate to find a shred of optimism. That when a Career won, they could find more joy in their victory than those outside the warrior tributes. Those lies were easy to say in the quiet of her mind, disconnected from the memory of said Career Victors, the dead eyes, the hollow smiles. The same reflected in all of them, regardless of whether they had jumped into the arena with a grin, or a terrified wail.

As the Capitol approached, buildings grew taller. Every building was different, every building that mattered anyway. Bubbles floated in the air above the aquarium, displaying realistic depictions of the animals that could be found inside. Falcon Inc, the drone manufacturing company, always had a different display up. Today the drones looked like their namesake, although larger and more brightly colored, birds spiraling up and down the sides of the narrow building. An ice cream shop five stores tall, each story using holograms to appear to be made of a different topping. The training center, where tributes lived their last days and Victors did their best to prepare them for the death ahead. Gold and silver, it glittered in the sunlight.

And on they went. Cerulean drew invisible mountains on the window, her mind blank, refusing to think about what lay ahead, or the fear that build within her. It wasn't long before the train slowed, and her escort reappeared in the lounge, waving her arm to Cerulean without even looking at her, still chattering away on her phone. Smile firmly back in place, Cerulean bounced back to her feet, tugging her bag behind her. As she stepped off the train, she wasn't surprised to find a familiar face waiting.

"Wow. That was really fast. I thought you'd wait a day or two, but of course you didn't. Nebula, I can take it from here thanks. And there she goes. Didn't even acknowledge me because of course not. What a useless creature, sorry about that really last minute you know how it is."

Franklyn Rose Elizabeth Mint was 5 foot 6 inches of energy. Short bright blue hair curled around her sharply pointed chin and narrow cheeks, and rose pink eyes were the only bits of extravagance to the woman. She wore a plain set of blue pants and a jacket, neat, and very well tailored, but compared to the flowers running around the Capitol, Miss Mint faded into the background. She stared after Nebula, who had wandered off the bus and then melted into the sidewalk beyond without a hello or goodbye, then turned on the Victor.

"You got enough sleep? I heard the note arrived late and you were up to get it immediately?"

Franklyn was already taking her bag away, though her eyes stayed fixed on Cerulean, as though to read her mind should she consider a lie.

Cerulean wouldn't think of lying to this woman, so she kept the truth simple.

"Always a night owl, you know dear. I did get plenty of sleep on the train though, so I'm all rested up and ready for work!"

The other woman held her bag for a moment, watching her, before shrugging off whatever doubts she may have carried. "Alright then, on we go."

Except they didn't go far.

Cerulean fit right in at the Capitol, with her rainbow hair, pink cloak and green outfit with rose and gold trim, but she was a Victor, a well known one still. Her games were 15 years ago, but her name appeared in the news outside of mentoring tributes, so she hadn't taken but a few steps from the train station when a group stopped her for photos and autographs. Phones were held up, pictures were taken. Cerulean let it go for a few minutes until someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side to take a photo without asking first. Leaning into the motion, she stumbled to the ground, causing Franklyn to yelp in alarm and begin barking orders. The man who had pulled Cerulean to the side was stammering an apology, but Cerulean was all smiles as she got to her feet.

"Oh dear me, its okay Frankie, I am just worried about this outfit you know it was quite expensive and the designer did such a good job, I am sorry everyone we must be-" Cerulean trailed off as her escort cut her off, snarling at someone who was approaching to keep back, they had a schedule to keep and herding her towards the street where a car waited.

"I love you!" "Your last art piece was inspired!" "When is your next show going to be?!"

Cerulean jumped into the car, a vehicle almost identical to the one she had taken in District 6 to get to the train station. The door was closed behind her, and silence descended.

Ah the Capitol. No matter how much it changed, from fashion to music to art, from minute to minute, it always really stayed, exactly the same.


	4. On the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mention of previous games and of how some tributes died, though it doesn't go into too much detail.

Cerulean played with her hair as she watched the city glide by. Franklyn was sitting next to her, and was rummaging through the small fridge that was in front of them.

"Water or Juice?" Since experience told Cerulean that 'neither' was not an option she opted for the water, and was unsurprised when the other woman produced two tablets as well.

"Vitamin C, and a multi-Vitamin. Since I know that there was no way 'Nebula',' Franklyn drawled out the other woman's name with heavy scorn, 'did anything to make sure there was decent food for a well rounded meal on the way here."

Drinking the water and swallowing the vitamins, Cerulean let Franklyns statement stand for a moment before shifting uncomfortably and finding the need to be honest.

"There were very well rounded meals on the train actually Frankie, really. I would call you motherly but you are far too mean for that." Cerulean kept her tone light hearted and smiling at the other woman.

"You must have had a wonderful relationship with your mother to make a statement like that. While mine was alive, she was the meanest person I've ever met," Franklyn replied back dryly, taking a sip of the juice Cerulean had turned down.

Of that, Cerulean had no doubt. Franklyn Rose Elizabeth Mint was the daughter of Velvet Rose Elizabeth, one of the most famous Gamemakers to have ever put on a lab coat. Her husband, Mr Mint, had also been a Gamemaker, though he had died shortly after Franklyn was born from an experiment gone wrong in the lab, or so Cerulean had heard from a very reliable source. Velvet had created some of the most horrifying Games in the history of Panem. The Summer Games, where the heat had increased with every passing day, spotlights chasing tributes like ants through the arena. That arena had also had mutant ants that appeared in hordes, tearing apart three tributes throughout the course of the games. The famous Gamemaker was also the creator of the Tunnel of Death, from Games before Cerulean could remember, a small tunnel that changed every time someone went through it. Sometimes it was safe. Sometimes it spawned food. Sometimes it set off a variety of traps that tore the tributes apart in fire, acid or blade.

Ceruleans own Games were run by Franklyn's mother. They were the last Games Velvet was in charge of. And oh, had that woman gone out in style.

"How have you been Frankie? Did you get some rest after the Games or have you been busy this whole time?" A change in topic was definitely in order.

Franklyn shook her head, looking over at the Victor for a long moment before giving a wry smile. "Oh I don't rest Cerulean, you know that. There is always something to be done. And my sister couldn't get any of it done without me."

Here it was then. From one unwelcome topic to another.

"How is she? I hope she has taken some time to rest since the Games ended..." Cerulean's concern was not feigned, though the reason for her concern certainly was.

Franklyn took another sip of juice, seeming to think over what her response would, or should, be. When she finally did reply, it was all Cerulean could do not to jump with nervousness.

"My sister. Doesn't ever rest Cerulean. I know how much she means to you of course. But you would be good to set that concern aside. She is the model of health, always. Unchanging by circumstance. Perhaps that is all part of the genius. You do not rest either, and I've heard many laud you an art genius. Perhaps you understand then. Of course you do. She has said so enough hasn't she. How much you understand her. That's why you are being summoned isnt it?" Franklyn spoke quietly, and Cerulean know the warning she was being given.

Be careful how her words could be misconstrued. Be mindful of the company she was in, and the lion that beckoned her back into its den time and time again.

But Cerulean had survived by ignoring such warnings. If she let go of the persona, she was lost. It was all she had. The only real tangible defense in her arsenal. She would cling to it no matter what the cost, and had proven so in interviews and even in notes to her sister. So she laughed, high pitched, and lightly tapped the other woman on the arm.

'Oh you! Darling Franklyn, if anyone is the genius here its you! That is why your sister, who as you say, is a genius in her own right, keeps you so close! I never met a pair as smart and capable as you two! Who else could decipher her thoughts!" Cerulean sighed and shook her head. "My part is of far less import. I hope I can be as helpful as she seems to believe I will be. Certainly I will try."

Franklyn relaxed, and Cerulean saw a moment where the other woman melted a bit. The look of exasperation and affection was real, and it warmed Cerulean. They had to want you alive more than they wanted you dead after all. That was the lesson she had learned when her Games began.

"Cerulean really, you amaze me. Anyone else would be annoyed at a summons as soon as they got settled. And to be honest, she wanted to call you back sooner, but I knew you needed some time with your sister. Still I got her to wait as long as I could. Hopefully we will have you on your way back home soon."

A crossroads here. Which way to walk? Was she upset that there had been any delay? No that would be too insincere. Instead...

"Thank you. Really I do get so worried about my sister when I don't see her for a few weeks. I hope that the delay wasn't too troublesome, I am more than happy to help your sister with these tasks. Normally when I am here, you are all both so busy I don't get to see you except for bits of time at parties. When I help your sister with her projects, well its the only real time I get to really talk to her, and to you. I do know you are busy, and appreciate you going out of your way to pick me up like this. Please let me know what has been going on with you? Outside of work! And if you aren't doing ANYTHING but work I will drag you to an art museum before I leave! Both of you!"

The other woman laughed, and Ceruleans smile grew with delight. The laugh wasn't much, but it was something. More than one could usually get from Franklyn. "I still can't believe you got us to go with you to the park last year! And during the games no less!"

Franklyn wasn't meeting her eyes now, and Cerulean knew to back down. She quickly turned to what Frankie and her sister were having catered to the laboratory, making suggestions of her own for future food places to add to their list of options. By the time they drove into the parking structure, they were having an almost normal conversation, by Capitol standards at least.

Then the windows dimmed to complete darkness. Cerulean froze. Every time. She tried to distract herself, she tried to forget what would happen, but when the darkness arrived, she couldn't move. Couldn't breath. Couldn't laugh or smile. She closed her eyes quickly, before she could start to see things that weren't there, before memories could play out and drive her mad.

A hand found hers and clasped it tightly.

"Most of those places do sound lovely and I will add them to the list, but Cerulean, you have to know that nothing you say will convince my sister to add dessert to the menu. She just doesn't believe in sugary food, and honestly, I agree with her." Franklyns voice was almost the same, but there was strain to it now. The car was moving forward through the darkness, and it would only be a couple more moments before the light returned, Cerulean reminded herself, as time stretched, and she heard the echoes of the dead in their last terrible moments.

"I'm sure you saw that they added another layer to that ice cream place, the Palace. How can anyone need that much ice cream, it is insane. You don't see an equivalent to the opposite of ice cream, no five story tower dedicated to healthy food."

Cerulean let out a breathy laugh, surprising herself. "Oh Frankie, that would be so silly! What would that even look like? Just a giant pile of vegetables?" her voice was so quiet with fear, as she only just controlled her breathing. It was almost over, and Franklyn was there. Nothing bad could happen to her with a Gamemaker in the car with her. She was safe. They were safe.

The hand holding hers disappeared and Cerulean felt her heart stop. In a moment, she would scream, she would break, go completely mad and never come back.

The lights turned back on. They had arrived at the secret facility beneath the Capitol, where the Gamemakers worked wonders of the most horrifying imagination, to create the Games that killed eleven children every year.


	5. A Painting

Taking a moment to calm herself, Cerulean opened her eyes and got out of the car, not looking over at Franklyn, who was also exiting the vehicle with haste. The room they were in now was bare, walls a dull gray, with only the car sitting in the middle and no indication of how it had arrived. In front of them, a door. Cerulean gathered her smile back into place, straightening her clothing a bit from having been sitting in the car, and carefully tucked her hair into place, moving forward slowly.

Franklyn, not having the same hesitance, was at the door much quicker. Raising a hand to the center of the door, she sang three notes.

The door evaporated but there was only an opaque simmer where it had been a moment before. An illusion of course, like they used at the border of some Hunger Games. Franklyn looked back at Cerulean with exasperation.

"Stop primping you look fine," the other woman snapped, then turned back towards the shimmer and stepped through.

Straightening her shoulders, Cerulean quickly scampered over to the shimmer, and then hesitated. Always, there was a fear here. This felt so much like a trap. There was no way out now of course, and she could hardly stay in this room. But she had seen shimmers like this kill. This was the technology they used to murder children, the exact technology. It was only a moments pause, as her instincts screamed in fear, but her smile did not falter, and she walked through the shimmer of light.

It was different every time she was invited here. Invited being a charitable term for why she was now here of course. Before the rooms had been blue and the windows had shown with holograms of underwater, and the walls had flickered with underwater light that wasn't really there. Or so she assumed. Perhaps this place moved somehow. Perhaps at that time they had been nestled near the aquarium, or an actual lake bed. The time before, it had been as though they were above ground, with skylights everywhere and a grassy field seen through large open windows, the occasional animal wandering by.

Now the walls were made of winding trees, with branches and leaves overhead, though noticeable no litter on the floor, a floor which was made to look like a dirt path with tufts of grass that shimmered and then reformed after she walked through them. Light trickled down through the ceiling as though from the sun. Panels were all over the walls, between tree branches, displaying statistics, strings of numbers. And some images. The place was almost empty, as Cerulean followed Franklyn down a long hallway, past rooms that held glowing drones that were being disassembled, and one where a half formed mutant monster that was part tree, part wolf. Someone was working in this room, taking the creature apart, writing something on a screen to their other side.

The hallway opened up in front of them, to a larger room. Here the tree motif faded away. The ceiling was a field of stars, and the tributes who had died had their profile images floating in the air, with a long list of accomplishments and failures in the arena. The Victor, Melody Thornbrook, had her profile image taking up half of one of the nearby walls, with one young man in a lab coat adding to the list of things that she had done since her Games had ended.

The other walls of the room were taken up by map displays from the most recent Games, the large forests sprawling out, with some images zoomed in on specific spots, like the Cornucopia, and another just a large aerial view. Some of the images weren't images at all but video panning over the quiet forest, while others replayed traps going off, deconstructing the movement with diagrams and text.

The floor here was a dark blue color, until she stepped on it. Every footfall caused a rainbow glow to shimmer where she had walked a moment before. Cerulean realized everyone's did. Cerulean walked to the center of the room, where a chair was stationed. A comfortable simple wooden chair, painted black. She sat down, and a display appeared before her. A picture, as of someone standing right above this years District 12 tribute, the first to die in the Hunger Games.

"I couldn't make up my mind you see. Whether you were needed this year. But look at her. We needed to add her to the collection."

Cerulean didn't look over, at the woman who now stood just behind her to the right. The scent of lavender drifted over.

"She was the first to die. Melody, the winner, her first kill. This was the catalyst for a Victor to survive. To ascend. To be chosen."

Cerulean swept her hands out in front of her, over the arms of the chair, activating a series of holograms, and a blue glow settled over her hands. A screen appeared below the image, with a cream colored square.

"It just didn't seem right. The longer I looked at her. To let such a moment be forgotten."

Something like fondness. Something like affection in that tone that made all the hair on the back of Ceruleans neck rise. One hand clicked on the air to her left and a palette of colors appeared, and she scrolled down the colors picking some colors and setting them to the side. Her other hand was already sketching on the page, the outline and form that the young girl lay in.

"I'll let you get to it then. Thank you, my friend," the weight of a hand on her shoulder, resting for a moment, and then the overwhelming shadow of death moved away, on to another task, and Cerulean relaxed just a bit, and focused on her task.

Form became color, intricate details of bruises and blood, and then she made her canvas larger, stretching out the image and then went into work, until what she painted was no longer recognizable as the dead child. It was violent and bright and shocking, surrounding a gentle resting of colors that may look like a human, the way that clouds might resemble a form. For hours she worked, focused first on the reality, the weight of what she was drawing. Tears fell from her eyes, but her makeup was more resilient than her sorrow and did not smear. She captured the sorrow, the innocence shadows and the cruelty in vibrant colors of contrast, light and shadow. No red, that would be too obvious, too crass.

She dismissed the girl, in her last moment of life, and made her painting large, six feet tall with a sweep of both hands, then pushed it back so she could stand, facing it. Taking the last bit of her, the soul of the moment, and crafting it, locking it into a moment for them, for the Capitol, for her killers, to keep forever. Cerulean worked further on the details, moving the painting as necessary until it looked how she needed it to from any angle.

She stepped back and bit back a scream when her summoner stepped past her, up to the painting.

Long dark blue hair, straight, ended halfway down her back. She wore black pants, and a long sleeved black shirt. She reached out one pale long fingered hand to stroke the air above the painting.

The other woman turned.

Cerulean stared into dark grey eyes, caught in a storm of emotion, most of it fear, as she watched Chrisma Velvet Rose cry. Ceruleans own tears had long since dried, and shed for a different reason.

"Its perfect but of course it is. Only you could get it right. Having been there."

Chrisma was not beautiful by Capitol standards, less so with her features swallowed in emotion. Her features were stark, her angles too hard, her eyes too large. She wore no makeup, her clothing was plain. But this hardly mattered, because Chrisma didn't care about fashion or the feelings or impressions of others, Cerulean knew she only dyed her hair blue because it was her favorite color, and possibly to hide strands of grey starting to appear. The head Gamemaker did not hide what she was from the world. She was a scientist, but without mercy or empathy to temper her unquenchable curiosity. She was a genius and most in the Districts believed her quite mad, but in a way that served the Capitol, so they preserved it, protected it.

Ignoring every part of her that told her to run, to hide, to perhaps even try to kill this horrible woman, Cerulean reached out and took her hand. "It was my honor Chrisma. Truly. Thank you for calling me back. You were right. She needed to be remembered this way. As only you could."

She pulled the other woman into a hug, as the Gamemaker cried, and stared over the womans shoulder at the art piece she had created. She would be the last person to see this other than the creature crying in her arms.

Chrisma did not cry for long, pulling away and then turning back to the digital painting. She typed something onto the side of the painting too quickly for Cerulean to follow, though the Victor was not paying attention, having turned her eyes to sweep across the room, where Franklyn was focused on her phone.

Franklyn the quiet studious shadow. What did she really think of Chrisma, and her behavior? Frankie had never shown any of the same erratic tendencies as her sibling. If the elder sister had not existed, Franklyn would have had the spotlight, as she was a gifted engineer of death in her own right. Instead she seemed content to hide in that shadow, take care of what small tasks Chrisma needed taking care of.

When she looked back, the painting was gone, and Chrisma watched her, her eyes large and wondering, calculating. Like being watched by a large cat, wondering if they were going to play before the kill, Cerulean thought.

"One day you will be ready my dear friend. To paint the masterpiece I have waiting for you. You grow stronger every day Cerulean, and I know it will be soon that you will be ready to paint her."

Cerulean's smile slipped. Just for a moment, as fear caused her vision to fade, and her knees to grow weak. The darkness, waiting in the shadows rushed in. Someone held her in place, stopping her from falling.

"Not yet, not yet, its fine you don't have to paint her yet, oh you silly thing. You are safe! She cannot hurt you anymore!" Chrisma's voice was filled with amusement as Ceruleans vision returned. Cerulean laughed weakly along with the other woman, noting that Franklyn was holding her up, while Chrisma stayed back, smirking. "Even you don't see what you are capable of yet my dear. Only I do."

Chrisma turned then, walking towards the other side of the room. A door opened, a shimmer concealing what lay beyond, and the other woman was gone, the door disappearing behind her.

Was the Gamemaker losing her grip on reality as time went by? The Capitol would do something if she slipped too far, but for a Capitol resident her behavior was little more than eccentric. And should they learn Cerulean was painting dead tributes for the woman? Why would anyone in the Capitol care. They would probably be delighted that such a collection existed, everyone would want her to do the same for them.

And intolerable suggestion. Both to Cerulean and Chrisma. They often arrived at the same conclusion, from opposing sides of the field. That in itself was terrifying.

"You good to stand up?" Franklyn asked impatiently.

Clearing her throat, giving a bit of a laugh, Cerulean straightened and pulled away. Franklyn waved to the doorway they had arrived in. "I didn't realize this would be so draining. Are you going to be up for dinner with us in a few hours?" Brisk, cold, Cerulean knew this was how the other woman reacted to weakness. It made Franklyn uneasy top see someone lose their composure, and she usually reacted with anger and disgust.

"Oh of course! That was so silly of me, really, I was probably just sitting in that chair too long and stood up too fast," A lazy lie, but Franklyn nodded at the suggestion, willing to accept this explanation though she probably knew it for what it was.

"I will just take a walk through the gardens, I know you are busy, don't worry about me. I will meet you back here in a few hours!" Cerulean chirped heading away from the other woman.

She saw Franklyn wrestle with this idea. The ground beneath her feet radiating soft rainbows as she shifted from foot to foot. Clearly she had intended to watch Cerulean and make sure she didn't collapse, that everything really was okay and she would be counted on to attend their dinner plans without trouble. But Cerulean had her mask back in place and flounced her way to the hall, twirling in place with a wave. "Go back to your work! During lunch we will discuss nothing but fashion and gossip so you wont be able to do any work at all then!"

Franklyn snorted, turning away. 'Well that sounds like a nightmare," she murmured as she headed in the direction Chrisma had disappeared into.

Cerulean turned with a smile, false and glowing, to enjoy a quiet break from the fear of the Gamemakers laboratory.


End file.
